Yellow
by I am the Color of Boom
Summary: Because Sirius is red, or black possibly, and Remus is yellow. Always yellow. -SB/RL.
1. Part I

**Yellow**

* * *

Author's Note: This is depressing...

* * *

_Look at the stars,_

_Look how they shine for you,_

_And everything you do..._

Yellow. Yellow thread.

Dulled grey eyes watched on as numb fingers worried at brightly colored stitching that had just started to come undone on the inside wrist of a solid black hoodie. The young wizard assaulting the contrasting thread, sat on the edge of a king-sized bed covered by a black duvet and situated in the center of a depressingly large and dimly lit bedroom. Black painted walls stood tall around dark furniture and even darker floors, their presence heavy on the wizard's slouched shoulders. Blood-red curtains were pulled tightly over arched windows, blocking out any light that may have made it through the heavy clouds hovering over Twelve Grimmauld and its future heir.

Sirius Black began to work in earnest at pulling the stitching out that didn't look like it belonged or wanted to be there. He _hated_ expensive clothing. If he was wearing a cheaper black hoodie, the stitching would probably be black too, and he'd have never even noticed. It would blend in. But instead, he was sitting on his bed at home and _not_ at school despite it being a school day, wearing a _black_ sweatshirt with _yellow_ threading that was coming loose, and it looked like absolute shit, because it was so damn noticeable, _almost glowing it was so fucking bright_—

A tight exhale escaped tingling lips, and smoke grey eyes refused to look away from the loose thread.

Yes, Sirius Black, the heir to the noble and most acient house hated expensive clothing. But maybe more so, he hated the color yellow... because it was bright and soft and hopeful, and it wasn't _anything_ like black, or red - the only colors surrounding him at that moment and the ones Sirius would probably be if he were a color and not a wizard (Although, black was really just a shade if he had to call it, but he wasn't in the mood to analyze the implications of that). No, yellow was the color of the _sun_, and _flowers_, and the hue to the edges of the pages of a _certain_ werewolf's favorite books, that were so old they'd begun to have a different scent, like some of the texts in the library at Hogwarts, the ones in the muggle history section where the author didn't want the preservation spell put on them in some type of 'life mimics art mimics life' bullshit. They smelled sweet.

Eyes fell shut and fingers stilled, his mind drawing so far in, they were no longer noticed, the tangent of his thoughts having brought him somewhere predictably unplanned. Unwanted.

Because yellow was other things too... Like the color _Remus_ had magicked the text on Sirius's favorite magazine when they'd been the only ones in the dorm to stay last Christmas break. Because he had complained for over an hour solid after dinner time as they lay in their respective beds that black was _too_ boring and just _utterly_ depressing and _why_ couldn't font ever be a _bloody_ different color, Remus? when he had been in one of his moods, because the holidays always had that effect on him.

And the magicked yellow font had been too light and a huge eyesore to read, and he hadn't known how to change it back, and that _should_ have pissed him off greatly, but instead it had made Sirius laugh, because he hadn't thought Remus had it in him to charm a written work, even if it was just a magazine on Quidditch.

He had kissed him after that, with his lips and his tongue and hands that had pulled them closer, as close as they could manage, because if Remus could do something to surprise Sirius so completely, then Sirius could surprise him back. It was only fair. And Remus had _definitely_ been surprised. It had been their first kiss.

Slate eyes opened back, even dimmer than before as they stared down at the ruined sleeve. He supposed he could buy a new one, throw this one out, he didn't need it. He had the money. One that had red or grey threading maybe, because blending in was a little depressing if he was being completely honest. He began to wind the piece of thread around his pointer and middle finger slowly, he was in no hurry. Then he began to _pull_ and his eyes hardened, mimicking the object they most resembled, what his heart must be made of. He hadn't know rocks could pulse. And he felt nothing as he watched the too sturdy threads tighten around his fingers, the tips darkening slowly as blood flow ceased to transfer between his hand and the two outermost digits. _Suffocating_. He had heard it was painful. He wanted to feel something again, it hadn't been long, it had only been two days, but it had been the longest two days he had ever endured.

He pulled harder, but the string held strong, its high thread count besting him as it dug sharply into his skin—

"Sirius, your father wants to see you now."

Sirius stopped, the thread slowly loosening as he looked up to see his mother, Walburga Black. The tall witch stood in the doorway, her expression dark and glazed as she held what was probably not her first drink of the day at only two in the evening, her freshly manicured nails a deep blood red.

"Did you hear me? He's _waiting_ in his study."

He felt himself nod woodenly at the curtly delivered words, and his feet and legs did the hard work and pushed him up off his bed. He wasn't worried this time, like he had been all the times before. Whatever the punishment he was given, he would welcome it with open arms. Because that's what someone did when they truly deserved something, wasn't it? And he definitely deserved whatever he got.

* * *

"Do you want to shag?"

Calm hazel eyes slowly shifted up from their focus on the book before them to land on a set of excited grey ones.

A sixteen-year-old Remus remained on his stomach, sprawled on his bed with long legs criss-cross in the air behind him, a book of Eastern shorts lay open before him, the only visible reaction to the blurted words a tensing in his calves and in the muscles around his mouth. He stared back evenly at one widely grinning Sirius Black, standing breathless just inside their dorm and blocking the closed door behind him. "I'm sorry..?"

Sirius held the grin. "Shag, Remus, do you want to shag?" he said, enunciating each word to remove any doubt, because there was definitely no room for it. It had been two _months_ since they'd first kissed. Well, since they had kissed, 'first' would imply there had been another, and there hadn't, much to Sirius's ever growing regret. Because Remus had avoided his private company like the plague after their snog - and it _had_ been a proper snog - because there had been groping, _lots_ of it and on both sides... at least, Sirius had thought at the time. When Remus had pulled back, his lips swollen, chest heaving and eyes wide he'd waited for some type of response. He'd gotten a hoarsely whispered 'I have to go' and a MIA friend until James and Peter had shown up the next morning.

He'd been okay with it at first (as okay as a bloke _could_ be in such a situation), reasoning Remus, ever the careful wizard, was only sorting out how best to proceed with their unexpected-and-admittedly-unconventional-but-still—very much—mutual attraction. But now, now he wasn't so sure anymore, not after so long, and he _needed_ to find out, but there were only two ways he'd figured to do that without running the risk of being reassigned to Slytherin: kiss him again... or ask him. Sirius'd quickly chosen the first option, pretending the latter didn't _actually_ exist, but it had proved impossible to do so in private, what with Remus having become so unnaturally good at avoiding him. He'd even been tempted to be mildly impressed a few times as he'd stood abandoned, Remus's scent still in the whipped up air around him, and he probably would have been too... if it hadn't been _so fucking depressing_.

So he'd tried for public. But there'd arisen a different problem entirely. Because while Remus wouldn't sprint away from him at a mad dash like he was the _scariest fucking thing he'd ever seen_ in front of their friends, he'd quickly found he could only get _so close _to the werewolf's lips with his 'playful' kisses in front of James and Peter. That is, before the former would start shooting him odd looks - wary gazes, one might even say - and asking Sirius if he needed to _tell him something_ in that voice he always saved for when Sirius was acting more off than usual. An inch to be exact.

If Sirius approached the one-inch-mark of Remus's soft lips from _any_ direction (he had checked), he would be in the wary-gaze-zone. And to be honest, Sirius wasn't so sure he wanted to see what lay beyond the wary-gaze-zone, especially if Remus wasn't there too. It could prove a very lonely place to be.

So when he'd seen Remus sneak up to their dorm that night alone just minutes after being challenged by McKinnon, Patil and Meadows to a three-against-three game of Exploding Snap (Strip Tease Edition) in the common room, he'd counted to sixty in his head and then promptly ditched his two other friends without explanation, or his shoes, earning him quite a few choice words from an angry James as he'd legged it.

And here he finally was... talking, to Remus... and it had hit him regrettably too late they were _alone_, and he could've just as easily been... kissing, with Remus... but he'd already said what he'd said now and—And _fuck_ if his mind wasn't working at all. Why had he said that?

Blue and green eyes with little flecks of gold blinked and then blinked again, the expression behind them unreadable. "Are you propositioning me, Padfoot?"

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. "_Moony_. You have no faith in me." He shook his head, the expression he was wearing one might think a first-year had just asked him if he were a prefect, except the head movement was off, by about ninety degrees. First-years were surprisingly trusting of prefects—Sirius and James had found that out with no small amount of glee after their seemingly synchronized growth spurts at the beginning of third year—and incredibly thick to boot. One could send them off just about anywhere in the castle or even straight into the Whomping Willow's welcoming branches, and they would march on dutifully because a prefect had told them it was the way to the infirmary. Which it was, in a roundabout way. But enough of that-

Hazel eyes narrowed. "But you are..."

Grey eyes narrowed too, but with much less certainty. "Are what...?" Fuck.

"Propositioning me. You're _propositioning me_."

Sirius took a step forward and then another, the door behind him officially unguarded. This was his chance; Remus was getting agitated, but he hadn't said no yet or hexed him or ran away screaming like he had thoroughly anticipated, because he'd found two months of a one-sided game of tag not only was as un-fun as it sounded, but it did a _lot_ to a guy's self-esteem.

"What if I was? Would you want to?" he asked, all traces of the winning smile gone suddenly from his expression as he stared a little too intently into eyes, eyes that he'd begun to dream of at night. Most nights as of late, if he wasn't being selective with his memory. Which _really_ bothered him - at least after the novelty had worn off - because he usually only dreamed of things he didn't think possible—"Would you want to shag, Remus?" he asked again, and _maybe_ his voice cracked on the wizard's name, and _maybe_ he should've tried a different (better) angle by that point, but he just waited.

And Remus sat up all of the sudden as if something in his thoughts had just elicited the action, his friend's expression slowly but surely _shifting_ but unfortunately not to anything more clear, and he found himself increasingly certain he'd say no. If he was a witch, he'd say 'yesyesyesofcourse,' assuming Sirius's past experiences were any indicator that is, but he wasn't. No, Remus was _not_ a witch, which he actually quite preferred he'd found, except for in this one specific instance as said non-witch merely stared at him. He really should have come up with an actual plan. Next time he'd ask Peter instead of James for hypothetical relationship advice. _Just talk to them, and if they like you, they like you_. Hell, the bloody bastard hadn't even gotten Evans to let him speak her _name_ in her presence without hexing him, what had he been thinking? He felt his chest begin to tighten as the silence dragged on, the air around him thick as it filled his lungs but refused to leave. _If they like you, they like you._

"You know what. Nevermind," he said with a feigned cheerful laugh as if he had suddenly changed his mind, as if it had been only a passing whim, and it had _just_ coincidentally passed - and not at all a poor and desperate attempt at the words that had gotten stuck somewhere between his throat and tongue for the past two bloody months _every_ time he had been in Remus's presence. Because, _if they like you, they like you. _Damnit, damnit all to bloody hell.

He turned on his heel then, and walked swiftly out of the room with nowhere to go, and once he'd reached the middle of the spiral staircase only seconds later, not visible from either the common room or dorm, he dropped down and rested his face in his hands, shoeless. That had gone horribly.

"Sirius...?"

Grey eyes popped open, and Sirius turned his head slowly - afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him like it was sometimes ought to do, the sadistic bastard it was. But then he met nervous hazel eyes. "...Yeah Remus?"

Remus nodded. "I would actually." He shifted uncomfortably on the top step. "I mean, you mean more than once though... right?"

Sirius's mouth dropped open, and he let out a laugh.

"I mean. Not a one-night stand, right?"

Sirius stood up, his mood following his body's direction eagerly, and he bounded up the stairs to pull Remus against his chest. "Definitely more than once."

Remus had smiled up at him then almostly shyly, and he'd grinned back down at him, having to bite down on his lower lip to keep it from getting too wide as they'd stood in front of their dorm, their socked-toes almost touching, to the sound of raucous cheering from below for James to _take it off!_

He had considered that their first day as a couple. And later he'd think that maybe, maybe he hated firsts more than he hated yellow. Because he and Remus had a lot of firsts, but none of them would be lasts.


	2. Part II

_So then I took my turn,_

_Oh what a thing to have done..._

Laughter slipped under the thinly veiled guise of exhales from tingling lips as Sirius walked _away _from his father's study, legs and arms also humming with some slowly building emotion, a single sentence refusing to silence itself in his buzzing mind.

_I'm just glad you weren't expelled. _

Not expelled. No, he hadn't been, had he? And _why_ not? He had tried to _kill_ someone. To murder them. He had wanted to, even if it hadn't lasted, even if he'd wanted to back out when everything - the implications, the consequences, the possible outcomes - had all lined themselves up properly in his mind in a single moment of clarity like some type of sickening joke of an epiphany as he and James had stood, the latter in complete shock, and watched Snape disappear into the base of the Whomping Willow. Because weren't epiphanies _supposed_ to be a helpful, if also a little condescending, this-is-what-all-those-things-you-somehow-missed-actually-means-when-pieced-together-like-they-_should_-be-now-DO-something-about-it? Maybe it wasn't, and maybe epiphanies were sometimes just spiteful bitches, because it hadn't been useful at all, to realize _what_ he had done, instead it had all come crashing down over him, and he'd almost gotten lost in it. Almost. He would have he was sure if James hadn't been there to smack him back into the present and bark orders at him to get Dumbledore when he hadn't moved immediately_ to keep things bloody quiet, Sirius, what the fuck?_ before running off at top speed to stop a seemingly suicidal Snape.

But despite all that, despite regretting it more now than _should_ be possible (because it _had_ been him who'd come up with the idea, he hadn't been cursed) it didn't change the fact he had still_ wanted_ it at one point, more than he could remember wanting _anything_. More than Remus obviously. Because, hatred wasn't a stronger emotion than say, love - at least he hoped not - but it _was_ consuming in nature, and it wreaked absolute havoc on one's brain, particularly the decision-making part; at least in Sirius's experience. And.. and he wasn't making logical sense.

Not punished.

Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to do so either. The grey-bearded wizard had asked him just one question before sending him home, saying it was the last few days of school and 'to get some rest' because exams were through, so why not? One simple question as they'd sat in the Headmaster's office away from all prying eyes and ears, even Fawkes, who he'd swear had gone up in a flash of flames just before to grant them a few seconds of complete privacy, because he'd seen him look _much_ mangier: Why?

And he'd told him as piercing blue eyes that were capable of sorting the answer out themselves had waited unobtrusively. Because he hated him. _With a vengeance._ He, Sirius Black, _hated_ Severus Snape. And not for the reasons many would think. It wasn't because he touted hateful ideas and words like that of a stuffy pureblood, where there was _no question_ amongst the school as to his half-blood lineage. Nor was it because of how he was _always_ trying to get him and his friends into trouble and ruining their fun. Or was it because he'd somehow scared Peter and made the most skittish of the marauders refuse to partake in any of their pranks on him ever since the beginning of second term in fourth year, but how, Sirius _couldn't_ figure it. And though oh so tempting, it wasn't even because of the way he made James miserable, the greasy bastard having somehow made friends with Lily Evans when the infuriating witch wouldn't give his best friend—one of the best people Sirius had ever known and would ever know he was _sure_—a passing glance.

No. No he _hated_ him, because of how the Slytherin watched Remus, in a way no one should watch Remus, not as closely as he did. _Like he was studying him_. Because Remus had secrets, dangerous ones, ones that if exposed could hurt Remus most of all, and Sirius needed him to be safe. Because he _needed_ Remus.

The same Remus whose secret was now known by the Slytherin, because of him.

The same Remus who would have been held responsible if he had actually succeeded in his attempt and been caught.

The same Remus who knew what he had tried to do.

Hands were covering his face, and he found himself leaning back on the wall in the dark candle-lit hallway, shoes sunken in the deep Slytherin-green runner, a too close flame heating the fingers on his right hand uncomfortably and trimwork digging into his back, his legs beginning to shake with an unknown purpose, and his shoulders following suit as he began to laugh, incredulousness fueling the maddening sound, because he _still_ hated Snape, maybe more so even, because he'd made him realize what kind of person he really was. He'd known ever since fourth and the Greengrass/McKinnon Prefect Bathroom Valentine's Incident (in which he'd been dating one noticeably absent Parkinson) that he was an _awful_ boyfriend, no question about it, and he'd accepted it. He'd accepted it with an easy laugh when he'd been told so during a very public dump the next morning over breakfast in the Great Hall, and the slightly hollow feeling in the middle of his chest he'd eagerly dismissed as hunger, because he _had_ worked up quite the appetite. He hadn't cared that the witch had also accused him of being a terrible person, telling himself he had the best friends imaginable, so while she may have been right about some things, she'd missed there, because a terrible person couldn't be a good friend. And Sirius Black was a good friend if nothing else, loyal and trusthworthy when it truly counted... That is. Until now.

He was the _worst_ friend ever. It had to be the truth after what he had done. After what he had done to Remus. He'd never forgive him, not ever. Maybe he was a terrible person.

The sound of laughter began to bubble from his lips again, but it was more confusing than anything, his chest aching as it shook and mind a swirling maelstrom, and he was sinking. _So fast_. Legs gave way, and he was sliding down the wall, ignoring the sudden onslaught of disapproving voices from the portraits watching him, and he covered his ears, but they somehow grew louder. He was losing it, he was losing it, but not in a good way.

He was losing it, and he didn't know if he'd be able to find it again_. _Because he was sinking this time, not floating, he was sinking, and it was _terrifying_.

* * *

"It's fucking cold like this, what happened to your blankets and why isn't the heat charm working in the dorm?" Remus said, his teeth almost chattering as he lay on Sirius's bed in their shared dorm with only a pair of dress socks on, as per Sirius's request.

Sirius grinned widely, perched on his knees with pulled crimson curtains his back-cloth, eyes greedily savoring the sight of the sandy blond spread out before him like an unwrapped present, which was the best kind in his opinion, because really, it was just a useless pretty box otherwise. "You are way better than a pretty box, Moony," he said, smile growing to expose perfectly straight teeth when Remus huffed a laugh, and he began to trace just his middle finger _gently_ along a new scar Remus had acquired the prior full moon that ran from the crest of his right hipbone down to the top of his thigh, running parallel to a blond happy trail. Happy trail was really an understatement in Sirius's opinion though. Maybe treasure trail or perhaps something more—A cool hand planted itself on his chest, pulling his mind back down even though it was pressing, _urgent_.

"James took my blanket, said he was cold as shite and needed two, don't worry you'll heat up." He shifted up further then, spreading his knees and pressing into the bottoms of Remus's bare thighs, and he nudged them apart a little more - peering down between his legs. "_Sexy_," he said, his words roughened, like they had been scrubbed with a scouring pad. "You're so fucking sexy, Remus." He whispered a needed incantation, and then his right hand settled fully on cool skin, and it began to slide, leaving a slick trail in its wake that would shine iridescent under a lumos charm, and then it dipped down and inward, searching and finding...

"A-and the h-heating charm?" Remus asked, his insistent words fluttering like they were riding on hummingbird wings as Sirius began to _press_, his back arching off Gryffindor red sheets quite prettily in Sirius's opinion, because Remus was definitely pretty at times even if he was a wizard, a persistent one at that.

Sirius had always thought the sandy blond's features more handsome with his tone, six-foot frame and casual stance, masculine - possibly more so than himself - because he _was_ a werewolf after all. But sometimes when no one else was around, or Remus was oblivious, he seemed - softer. And at those times he would feel inclined to utilize not so masculine adjectives to describe the sandy blond. Like when he would lay on his bed, stomach down with his legs up in the air behind him, wiggling socked toes almost in Sirius's face, a book from home being lovingly caressed by slender fingertips, as he re-read his favorite lines for the umpteenth time; Sirius couldn't help but think he was cute. Or when he would fall asleep in the crook of Sirius's arm, lips slightly parted, and he'd occasionally snuggle in tighter, sandy eyelashes resting almost on cheekbones they were so long; Sirius would even say he was pretty. And then there was when the wizard's body would bow under the smallest ministrations of Sirius's, like it was doing at that very moment, well then he was _definitely_ pretty—

"Sirius."

Sirius pressed another slickened finger in, sinking further and further into a consuming velvet warmth that pulled a groan in the shape of his name from Remus's lips. Heavy eyes fighting fiercely, refusing to be consumed completely by its natural enemy, pressing eyelids, as they watched muscles flex along with every nuanced flushing expression of pleasure in a rapt fascination as he learned _exactly_ what Remus liked, cataloging it away for next time. Because there _would_ be a next time if he had any say in the matter, even if they had been together two months, which he'd thought for sure was well and far past his capacity; he found he didn't really want anyone else anymore—

No not pretty. Gorgeous. Remus was _absolutely gorgeous—_

"_Sirius_."

Grey eyes focused. "Oh, yeah we had to turn it off for the potion James is brewing in the bathroom, otherwise it would explode before it should." He curled his fingers up and towards his wrist to watch the wizard's hips arch up one more time before carefully slipping fingers out and then began to slink up the expanse of Remus's body, eagerly anticipating replacing his fingers with a _much_ more sensitive body part that jumped at just the thought, because somehow, Remus felt better _every_ time. Like magic.

"And why did you _let_ him take it?" Remus asked even as Sirius guided himself between legs that he liked best for how they wrapped around him so perfectly, pulling him closer over and over almost as if they wanted him most, needed him most.

And Sirius smiled down at the wizard, focusing again - because Remus deserved it, he deserved so much - the expression gracing his lips possibly more genuine than anyone had ever seen if they were being honest. "Because I knew I'd have you to keep me warm." He slowly pressed hips forward, unsure tension slowly giving way under an aching needy pressure and enveloping, drawing him in and capturing him fully in a warm velvety embrace he'd begun to _crave_. Like an addict.

"_Moony_..."

Then grey eyes had _finally_ fallen shut, having lost the battle but not caring, because they had earned a warrior's death - and then he'd let Remus pull him _down_ and into a kiss, notably warmer skin pressing against chilled, sharing its heat finally. And he'd begun to move, to make more.

_Your skin,_

_Oh yeah your skin and bones._

_Turn into_

_Something beautiful..._


	3. Part III

_I came along,_

_I wrote a song for you,_

_And all the things you do..._

"James. I." Sirius swallowed back at the pressure in his chest as it rose and fell, like it was trying to inflate itself but there was a hole, a leak, and every time it would fill, almost to the _brim_, some of it would slowly begin to escape - and then it would start all over again, never completely full but always building, _pressing_. It was maddening. He swiped back soaked midnight locks from his face, and when he blinked, heavy black eyelashes tried to stick together, the fat water droplets still clinging to them pooling as they met, weighing them down.

"Sirius, it's the middle of the night, what happened? Are you okay?"

Sirius pressed damp lips together and tried to nod but his neck had other ideas, and he was shaking his head, the movement too subtle for the tempest of emotions forcing it on its too honest direction, but maybe that was because he was fighting it, because he didn't want to feel any more vulnerable at that moment. Not with his jawbone still aching and his side continuing to burn fiercely along the entire right side despite the _numerous_ healing potions he'd swiped in his hurry when he'd left Twelve Grimmauld. Because it would seem his mother and his father's opinion on how to 'raise' him had changed at some point, at least according to his mother anyway. "I ran away," he said and then let out the breath he had forgotten to expel with the words.

He looked up and met James's shocked expression with a weak excuse for a smile, lips barely tugging up one corner, his grip still tight around the piece of mirror he'd almost cried in relief upon finding in his jacket pocket on the Knight Bus, and then he actually had, silently, with his hand hiding his face as he'd remembered Regulus throwing the piece of clothing down to him from the window, his younger brother in almost a panic that he _take it_. "I've nowhere to go," he said and wished it sounded just the _slightest_ bit funny. And he didn't even know what he was doing there, standing on rain-licked gravel at fuck-knows-when-o'clock, but he always told James everything, and this _felt_ like everything.

James pushed the door open wide as he stood in Quidditch-themed pajamas that Sirius always made fun of, but now he just wanted to hug, and the soft warm glow from lit candles in the two-story entryway flickered in greeting to the cold and wet wizard. "Of course you do, come on Pads."

Sirius looked down at the neatly manicured flower bed of yellow and white that framed the serenely picturesque estate that was Potter Manor. And he let out a rough laugh. "I'm a mess," he said, meaning so much more than his soaked to the bone jeans, and ruined leather jacket, or even his sopping wet trainers he was sure would leave a muddy trail on pristine wooden floors. Because he was a rainbow dipped in Remus's favorite Honeyduke's chocolate on the outside compared to what was lurking on the inside.

"Well, we'll just have to clean you up then," James said matter-of-factly, his words so confident and simple that Sirius found he almost believed them, that maybe he wasn't a lost cause. Because James Potter was a stubborn arse, but he _knew _when to jump ship, and he was a fast bugger. He had ran like a Leviathan trying to escape Purgatory in third year after they had charmed all of the Ravenclaws' books in their common room to turn to dust upon opening but not before crowing (hah), 'Marauders rule!' Ravenclaws - Sirius had learned the hard way - were very protective of their texts. "Come on, get your wet arse in here."

Sirius took one last look down at himself, swiped fruitlessly at his mud-streaked black shirt that stuck to him stubbornly like a second skin, sucked in a deep breath that tickled more than ached and found himself moving towards the open door of Potter Manor, the crimson-colored stain in his mind that was Twelve Grimmauld growing exponentially smaller with each step forward and up.

And James slung an arm around his shoulders when he reached the stoop, looking more subdued than Sirius could ever remember seeing him, excepting once; when he had found out what Sirius had planned to do to Snape, and to Remus, and Sirius felt a sudden swoop in his stomach and a fluttering in his chest, and he wanted to back peddle, because maybe he shouldn't have left home, maybe he didn't deserve any better. Maybe he had been _right where he belonged_. But James's hand palmed the back of his head, shoving him forward lazily, and his best friend smiled crookedly.

"You smell like a bloody wet dog," he complained half-heartedly, as the door shut behind them in a charmed silence, once more keeping out the dark. Sirius worrying in the back of his mind, where things tended to get muddled at even the best of times, that some of it had managed to sneak in on him.

* * *

Grey eyes pointed down.

"You're gonna have to talk to him."

Sirius nodded. Quietly. Because movements could be quiet just like they could be loud. And Sirius's body needed to be quiet, because his mind was _screaming_, and he could only handle so much noise.

"Sirius. He's going to be here tomorrow, and I don't want to have to spend the next _three_ weeks in awkward-as-bloody-fuck-land." And then again, "You're gonna have to talk to him."

Sirius began to chew on his thumbnail as he tried to reconcile what his best friend wanted, and what Remus wanted. Or didn't want. Because Remus had said absolutely nothing to him the morning after the full. After he had sent Snape to him, knowing he'd have no control, knowing he might remember, knowing what he'd do. He had simply sat quietly on the edge of the hospital bed in the back corner of the infirmary, arms wrapped around himself not too tight but not too loose, and ragged sandy locks had hid hazel eyes as Sirius had tried his hardest to apologize enough. And when he had finally stopped, heart feeling like it had sprinted all the way to the moon and back, his entire body waiting in an oddly agonizing state of hopeful dread - he had said nothing.

He hadn't even looked up.

"What if he doesn't want to though? What if he doesn't want to talk to me?"

He felt the bed dip in front of him, and grey eyes turned up to meet a thoughtful James. "Then you try again later." There was a pause. "He _will_ come around, Pads."

Sirius nodded and looked back down at his hands. "Right." He felt his thoughts try to take flight when anxiety began to swell inside him - like a beast, searching for something weak to feast on - and they were all _too_ aware of their shortcomings.

Because James wasn't always right, _sometimes_ he made mistakes too, even if they weren't _nearly_ as monumental as his.

* * *

_Do you know..._

"You okay Remus?"

Remus shrugged, slacks-covered legs swinging a little as they dangled over the edge of the Astronomy Tower as he sat in the unexplainable space where there was no stone banister and which Sirius had coined upon first seeing in first (quite distastefully, in Remus's opinion) as Suicide Spot for, You-Know the Lazy Ones, Remus, because he'd reasoned there were all sorts who wanted to end their lives and not everyone could be bothered to climb over the banister. "Not planning on jumping, are you?" he tried teasing, 'tried' being the operative word unfortunately.

The distance to the ground far below obviously looked even more impressive under the dark night sky, because Remus didn't look up as he mumbled, "I'm still deciding."

Sirius sighed and lowered himself down by the wizard. "He didn't mean it."

"I'm pretty sure he did." Remus's legs stopped. "...Maybe he's right."

And Sirius felt his chest clench, and he shook his head. "No. No, he's _definitely_ wrong."

He didn't say anything else as he strained tired eyes to make out the Quidditch pitch in the distance, where he figured James and Peter to be, and he took in a lungful of the damp spring air, and then he felt a hand slip tentatively into his, and he gave the fingers a squeeze as he remembered his best friend's complete flip-out. _It's just not right_ had been the crux of his incredibly offensive and completely unasked for opinion on his two best friends being _that intimate with each other _after he had stumbled upon them in Sirius's bed after classes being _that intimate with each other__._ And Sirius, when the wild-haired wizard had _finally_ stopped to catch his breath had responded with an encouraging, 'But don't hold back, tell us how you _really_ feel, Prongs,' that had just started him up all over again, but with a renewed fervor.

He grimaced as he remembered Remus paling at some of his best friend's more _colorful_ wording to describe his and Remus's 'feelings' towards each other, because James _had_ used air quotes. He really was a gigantic asshole 'sometimes.'

"James'll come around, he's just in shock." The tall wizard leaned over, cocking his head so he could press his lips gently to Remus's cheek, and then he trailed them further back, grazing along chilled skin so he could murmur a little devilishly, "We were being a bit.. _adventurous_."

And Remus laughed, the sound tired but warm, like the heat coming off an oven that had been on all day for Holiday cooking, making Sirius's insides feel all toasty. "Adventurous. Is that what you'd call that?"

He shifted closer, and rested his head on Remus's shoulder, his breath leaving him heavily when it didn't relax under his touch, because sometimes Remus wasn't the confident one, and he couldn't blame James for that even if he wanted to. "He'll come around," he said and then more impishly, "Just give him some time to forget where I had my tongue." His resting place shook at that, and he smiled. "It was rather nice, didn't you think?"

"Rather," Remus hummed, and then he said something else, as they sat at the very edge of the highest point at Hogwarts that night, just the two of them under a blanket of well known constellations and a waxing gibbous, both invading in their moment quite poetically considering. It had been hesitant, and soft. Vulnerable.

"I - I love you, Sirius. You know that, right?"

Sirius could still remember not responding—the silence—his breath having felt like it was trapped, a hostage inside his own chest to the sudden tempest of confusing emotions whirling inside it.

He hadn't responded.

_You know I love you so,_

_You know I love you so._


	4. Part IV

_I drew a line,_

_I drew a line for you,_

_Oh what a thing to do..._

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling like there was a frog or some other foreign object stuck in his throat as he stood in his new bedroom at Potter Manor—an old guest room that James's parents had insisted was never used when they had welcomed him into their home permanently—the very next morning after his arrival.

"You're... _sorry_?" Hazel eyes blinked.

Once.

Sirius nodded, the movement as faint as his thoughts, downward angled black eyebrows pulled in, pain twisting bittersweet inside his chest.

Because Remus had said _something_ to him, and he didn't care if it sounded numb or even a little mocking.

"I know, it's not what you want to hear," he continued on at a painfully slow pace, pushing through the heavy haze that was hiding his thoughts from him, the two feet of space between them feeling like a million, because he couldn't close it; and Remus wouldn't. "I messed up. I don't know what I was thinking."

His right hand tugged roughly at black locks that had gotten a little too long and unkempt since he'd left home, and he felt the urge to pull it out. "I just"—he _tried_ to gather his words—"I just, sometimes I can't _think straight_. I don't know why. I. I just get all turned around."

Sandy locks dipped down to hide hazel eyes once more, Remus suddenly needing to watch the floor. "I know. I know you do... but I can't just pretend like it's okay. Because it's not. I'll always be your friend, no matter what, but us... what we had, it's over, Sirius. I just... I can't do this anymore."

Sirius felt his heart fall into his stomach, and he tried to nod his understanding but nothing happened.

And he realized something too late.

He did know what it was like to be in love. He had to.

Because he knew what it was like to lose the one he loved.

His breath jerked in his chest, laughing at him, and his thoughts grew more distant.

His lips began to tingle, and he heard himself say, "I understand Remus," and then when hazel eyes shot up, and a feeling that looked like guilt began to fill them, he added with a jerky shake of his head: "It's not your fault, don't feel bad."

_And you know,_

_For you I'd bleed myself dry._

* * *

"Is this... is this all right?" Sirius asked, his words hard to get out as he breathed heavily, his hips shifting as he moved over the body below him after three long weeks since the 'Astronomy Tower Incident,' because Remus had pulled him onto his dormitory bed in front of a shocked, but finally accepting, James, saying it was okay, that Sirius didn't _have_ to feel the same as he did.

He understood.

Sirius's chest filled itself with air almost painfully, and then forced it back out, leaving a weird aching tickle behind. "Is this all right, Remus?"

The sandy blond beneath him bit down on his lower lip, his eyes clenched tight. "Yeah, it. It hurts though, a little. It's been a while."

Sirius dipped his head down and placed a gentle kiss on parted lips. "I'm sorry," he said, slowing his movement to almost a full stop, and then his entire body decided to take a poll right there—unanimous in the fact that it absolutely loathed him—his cock the ringleader. But his cock could go to hell, because he only cared about Remus.

Well, maybe not hell, because then he couldn't shift his hips like that, angling them up towards the Gryffindor stained ceiling high above Remus's bed _just so_, and elicit that moan from his lips that told Sirius that _maybe_ it was hurting a little less now, and that he could _finally_ speed up some, so he wouldn't faint from all the extra oxygen soaking his bloodstream as he gasped for air at almost a stand-still.

"_Sirius_," Remus whispered, his words so raw, they almost didn't sound like a word, but a message instead, a secret message meant only for him, one he'd shared before with terrible consequences, "Sirius-"

He kissed him again, quieting him, silky raven locks falling into grey eyes, concealing the unsure emotion in them and brushing Remus's cheek as he continued to move over him slowly. "Best one-night stand ever," he murmured against gasping lips, smiling when Remus laughed, his chest fluttering against his and somehow warming it.

And he would _swear_ he was in love, if he were a normal person without all the emotional scars messing with his not so solid mind, and if he was just certain he knew how it actually felt: to love, to be loved.

But he didn't, and he'd been wrong time after time, and he didn't want to do that to Remus—so he kissed him again, his hand trailing down his scar-kissed torso, using his body to tell him what he couldn't.

That if he didn't, he wanted to more than anything.

_Look at the stars,_

_Look how they shine for you,_

_And all the things that you do..._


End file.
